


M Takes a Holiday

by MaryAnne615



Category: Casino Royale (2006), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Quantum of Solace (2008), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAnne615/pseuds/MaryAnne615
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While M is on holiday with her family, intelligence reports indicate a known terrorist has shown up in the same town.  Not believing in coincidences, Bond heads to where she is.  But M is not happy that her work life has overtaken her personal life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Significant to Report

James Bond wasn’t used to seeing her office empty. And not just ‘she’s stepped away from her desk and she’ll be right back’ empty, with her coat slung over her couch and her briefcase on the floor by her chair. Her office was empty. Her desk, while always neat and relatively Spartan, was even more bare than usual. Just her phone, a notepad, and Jack. 

She was out out.

“She’s on holiday, Bond.”

Tanner’s voice came up behind him and then passed him as he moved behind his desk.

“She’s with her husband and children.” 

He didn’t offer a ‘where’. Bond didn’t need to know.

He looked back into her office, dark except for the blinding city lights coming in the windows. Bond hated that MI6 was located near the heart of the city, across from a large residential building and underground station. Too many people around. Too much light coming in through the windows. 

“Alright. Anything going on?”

Bond had returned from his last mission a month ago, debriefed with M, and then disappeared. It was his usual modus operandi and nobody questioned him about where he went or what he did. He just simply fell off the face of the earth until M summoned him once again. 

“Nope. I’ve been working with the Deputy Director but it’s quiet out there right now. You should enjoy the time off,” Tanner said. He was putting on his coat and scarf, obviously ready to call it a day. 

“Want to get a drink?” 

Tanner looked at him for a moment.

“Sure. Lead on.”

The two men left behind M’s empty office, Jack watching them as they got on the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All too soon Bond’s mobile was ringing. He fished around the floor underneath the bed until he found it. 

Tanner.

“Yes?” he asked, his head slowly clearing. Tanner might seem meek and quiet in the office, but take him out to a pub and get a few pints into him and his personality changes. Bond barely remembered stumbling into bed around 3 a.m.

How could he be so bright and chipper at...?

Bond looked at the clock on his nightstand.

…half past 9 a.m?

“Bond, we need you. Something’s come up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later Bond was standing at Tanner’s side. They were in M’s office with H, the Deputy Director of MI6. Her computer had been taken out of secure storage and was sitting in its usual place on her desk. 

“Where was he spotted?” Bond asked, trying to decipher the encrypted information on the computer screen. A killer he was. An analyst he was not.

“Hold on, that information is coming.”

‘He’ was Jackson Everett, one of the UK’s most wanted international terrorists. MI6 had been chasing him for years, specifically Bond and Felix Leiter with the American CIA. Twice they had gotten close. Twice he had managed to escape into thin air. In the meantime the two spy agencies had many times undermined his planned attacks. 

“He was spotted at a pub in Cromer Beach, North Norfolk, yesterday night,” said H, obviously able to decipher the code in front of them.

Tanner whipped his head around quickly, tension visible in his face.

“What?” 

This from both Bond and H at the same time.

“Where did you say he was seen?” Tanner asked, having heard H the first time loud and clear but wanting to verify before he spoke.

H repeated the location. “Why?”

“That’s where M is on holiday with her family.”

Bond was instantly on edge, alert, ready to pounce on the target.

“That’s no coincidence. Who’s up there with her?”

“Her driver and two bodyguards. They check in every 12 hours. So far…nothing,” Tanner said. But he was already on his tablet, looking up the reports filed by the bodyguards over the past 6 days. There was very little…the driver was cut off on the roadway, the neighbor spent a little too much time looking at the roses in M’s front yard. But all had checked out. Most of the reports were ‘NSTR’ or Nothing Significant to Report’.

“I’m going up there,” Bond said, quickly. 

“She won’t be happy about that,” Tanner said, with an almost bemused tone to his voice.

“She’ll be even more unhappy if she wakes up dead, Tanner. Who else is available?”

“009,” said H.

“Ronson, good. Okay. Let’s call her,” said Bond. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he actually saw both Tanner and H recoil. This was not going to be a nice phone call. 

M had a strict policy when it came to her family…they were off limits to everyone at MI6 unless it was a driver or a bodyguard and even then they lived under threat of death if they mingled with or talked about her husband, their children and grandchildren, or any member of her family. If there was a need for someone from MI6 to be with her while she was with her family, they had strict orders to fade into the woodwork until needed. Bond heard that those personnel were always treated with respect and got extra time off, but that their assignments were extremely stressful. Being that close to the boss couldn’t be easy.

Even Tanner, M’s most trusted confidante and keeper of many of her secrets, had his limits. He knew M’s husband, had his mobile number memorized so if he called he would be put through to his wife if she was available. Bond knew Tanner had been to her house a few times but he also knew that Tanner would never tell him or anyone else what went on there.

Of course, Bond had also been in M’s house. Had poked around quickly, knowing that her husband could return at any time. He’d seen some photographs, a few personal items lying about the house. He had even seen a pair of shoes in the corner. Small, female. M’s. It had been odd to see them there without her in them. But he had not felt like what he was doing was an invasion of her privacy. More like a recon of the boss. 

He searched his memory for what he could remember about her family from hacking her file. Husband was Emmett Whitstone, a respected physician but retired for about five years. Two sons, Derek and Samson, and one daughter, Charlotte. He knew there were grandchildren but he hadn’t bothered with extended family. 

Tanner closed the door to M’s office and turned on the speakerphone. He dialed the number. It was answered on the third ring.

“Yes, Tanner, hello.” A man’s voice…the husband. 

“Sir, I am sorry to bother you. I have others here with me. You’re on speaker phone,” Tanner said, letting him know there were others on the call.

“No worries. You waited…six days before you called. I think that’s a record. She’s out on the beach right now. Want to hold while I get her or have her call you back?” 

Bond answered the question.

“Sir, my name is Bond, James Bond. We’ll hold, thank you.” 

“Very well.” 

Whitstone didn’t mute the phone when he put it down. All three men were quiet, trying to listen in on a little piece of M’s personal life. They heard nothing. Which perfectly matched what they knew about her personal life.

Then they heard a far off voice.

“Peach…phone!” 

Bond looked at Tanner and mouthed the word ‘Peach’. Tanner mouthed the words ‘shut the fuck up, Bond’. He knew better. 

Footsteps. Phone being picked up.

“Yes?” M’s voice, breathless and with a tinge of agitation.

H talked before Tanner could, hoping to deflect what could be an angry conversation.

“It’s me, M. I’m with Tanner and Bond. We have a report that Jackson Everett was spotted in a pub near you yesterday night.”

“Reliable?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, we’ve got 4 days left here and I’d like to take it. My children arrive this afternoon…it’s just the five of us, no spouses or children. Burrell and Egan know?”

The bodyguards, Jim Burrell and Howard Egan.

“Yes, ma’am. I notified them a few minutes ago. Your driver as well,” Tanner responded, grateful that he had passed them all a quick message from his tablet. 

“Okay, keep me posted, let me know if there is another sighting,” she said, wanting to end the phone call. But Bond wasn’t happy with this. 

“M, I’m coming up there and bringing Ronson with me,” he interjected quickly, before she could disconnect the line.

There was a half moment of silence. Bond could almost see her rolling her eyes.

“You think that’s necessary, Bond? It could just as well not be him.”

“Yes ma’am. Better safe than sorry,” he responded. She was being stubborn and defiant. Bond knew that if he wanted her to agree to his presence near her on holiday he would have to play his trump card.

“Especially with your family involved,” he added.

Another silent moment that stretched into several. Bond was playing her and she knew it. For almost a minute nobody spoke. Bond could hear her breathing, knowing that she was more than likely weighing his words against her desire to not be interrupted. Or thinking of remote places on the globe to send him, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Okay, Ronson can hide with Burrell and Egan. Bond, you’re at the house with us,” she said.

All three men reacted at the same time, shocked that she would invite him to the house.

“Okay…” Bond stammered. “What’s my cover?”

A large draw of breath on the other side of the line. “You’ll be a friend of my oldest son, Derek. Tanner, get them a flight here, send me their itinerary and spin Bond up on my son.”

And with that, she hung up, not waiting for anyone else to interject with any other suggestions.

“Okay then, I’m a mate of her son. I guess from college?”

Both Tanner and H smirked. Then Tanner openly laughed.

“What?” queried Bond, a bit confused at their behavior.

“Bond, M’s son is gay,” squeaked Tanner, unable to contain his laughter anymore.

“Oh, I’m the ‘boy’ friend,” he said, drawing out the word ‘boy’. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Bond pulled up in front of M’s beachfront house. It was large for the area, but looked like it was older than most of the other houses in the area. According to Tanner, M’s father had built the house just after World War I then left it to her when he died in 1970. It was perfectly maintained but a little plain...the sure sign of a home that wasn’t lived in full-time. 

He knocked on the door and was greeting instantly by M. She was holding a cup of tea and dressed so casually that Bond didn’t recognize her. If not for the flashing blue eyes and graying hair he wouldn’t have known the woman standing in front of him was M. He was used to seeing her in tailored power suits and perfectly groomed, not a hair out of place or a cracked nail. Now she was in capris and sneakers and…her husband’s shirt? It had to be it was so large, stopping just a few inches above her knees.

“Bond, come in,” she said quickly.

He stepped into the house and followed her down a hallway into the kitchen. Standing over a large pot on the stove was a man that Bond recognized from the photographs in M’s house...her husband, Emmett Whitstone. At the table was a woman about Bond’s age, making sandwiches.

“Everyone, this is Bond. James Bond,” M said quickly, waving her hand around the room. She was angry and as she introduced everyone she was getting angrier.

“My daughter, Charlotte.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

“My son, Samson.”

Bond nodded at him.

“And my husband, Dr. Emmett Whitstone.”

The man at the stove waved a ladle at Bond, signaling hello. 

M was having a hard time controlling her anger in front of her family. She needed to get Bond away from them, and quickly. 

“I’d like to speak with you, please,” she said, walking past him. There was no doubt in Bond’s mind he was to follow her where ever she was going. 

She led him into a room lined with shelves filled with books, photographs, and other knick-knacks. A large desk with a computer sat in one corner, an overstuffed couch in the other. She turned around as he shut the door.

She was furious. Ever since the phone call that morning she had been simmering in anger at the thought of an agent in her home. Bond could tell that without her even speaking a word. Her blood was boiling.

He stepped away from her, afraid that if he touched her he would get burned.

“Bond, I am not happy that you are here in my house. With me. And my family,” she spit the words out, not even caring to contain her anger as she often did while in the office.

“I know, M, I’m sorry…”

“I don’t mix my work with my family. Ever,” she cut him off. Bond decided to remain silent.

“I’ve always kept my work separate from my family. I don’t bring them into my business. My husband would have left me years ago if I had,” she said. Her voice was rising, getting a bit louder with each sentence. 

“My children probably wouldn’t speak to me all.”

“M, please, I know, I’m only trying to protect you and your family. You know how dangerous this man is. And you also know he has a grudge against MI6 for…”

“I know why he hates us, Bond, you don’t need to give me a lesson in my own job, thank you.” She didn’t like him interrupting her. 

She turned away from him but then just as quickly whirled back around to face him. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she was even angrier.

“I can’t tell you how much I do not want you in my house.” Her voice was steel and it cut through Bond like a knife.

Now Bond was angry. This wasn’t his fault.

“You know this works both ways, right? I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here with you,” he spat back. His voice was starting to rise now. Bond wondered what her husband and children could hear from the kitchen.

The words caught her attention. He knew he had a few things to say to her about this whole situation and as long as she was hurling spit and venom at him she was going to get it back.

“I’m supposed to be on holiday, too, and instead, here I am with you. I get enough of you at the office. I was enjoying my break from you,” he continued. Only a small part of him felt that way about her. Most of the time he enjoyed their back-and-forth sparring. He didn’t really enjoy her verbal abuse, but he also knew that most of the time she was chastising him, he had done something to deserve it. She kept him in line, mentored him, taught him the ins and outs of intelligence and he had a deep respect for her. 

But right now she was pissing him off.

“Bloody fucking hell, M, I could think of a half-dozen things I’d rather be doing right now than sitting here and babysitting you and your family.” He shouted the last sentence in anger and frustration. He hated talking to her like that, but at the same time she should show him some respect as well. He knew that her family could hear him but he didn’t care.

She didn’t respond to his words, just glared at him, his words sinking in, her blue eyes focused so hard on his that he could almost imagine that they were somehow connected, that she had aimed some part of her at him, hooked him and now there was no escape from her.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” she said, her voice the calmest Bond had heard since he arrived.

The door opened. Emmett stepped through.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you’re scaring the children,” he said quietly.

Bond was taken aback for a moment at his words. Scaring what children? 

Then he saw just a tiny glimmer of humor in M’s eyes. Then Whitstone laughed.

“Bond, there are sandwiches and soup in the kitchen. Please, make yourself at home,” he said, stepping out of the door to let Bond pass.

Bond looked at M but she was looking at her toes intensely, as if she had suddenly grown an extra one.

“Ma’am,” Bond said, leaving the room.

Emmett stepped closer to his wife. He knew that she was angry that Bond was here. He also knew better than to get involved in her work, but that at this point, he was involved. They all were. 

“Peach, go easy on the lad. He’s only doing his job and trying to protect you,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“I know, darling, I’m sorry. I brought work into our house. I’m so sorry…” she said, almost a whimper. She snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth and curves of his body against her own. She loved her husband. Had loved him since their first meeting at university. In all their years together, despite working long hours and raising three children, she had never stopped loving him. And she knew that he loved her. She hated doing this to him, bringing work here, interrupting their lives, especially after all the sacrifices he had already made to support her work. Her heart was heavy, knowing that she had failed him. 

“It’s alright, Peach. We’ll get through this,” he said, touching her chin and angling her face towards his. “I only have four days left before I have to return you to the service. Let’s enjoy it, shall we?”

With that he kissed her, hard, pulling her as close to him as he could without hurting her. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Bond wandered into the kitchen to see Samson and Charlotte sitting at the counter, eating their sandwiches and talking quietly. He felt a bit uncomfortable in their presence.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“It’s alright, Mr. Bond. I don’t see any blood so you’re okay,” Charlotte said, a hint of humor in her voice.

“Sit down, have some food.”

Bond had wanted to keep walking through the kitchen and go somewhere else, away from her and her family, but the smell of the soup made his stomach growl. He was hungry. He helped himself to a bowl of soup, which seemed to be some sort of beef and vegetables, and a sandwich. He sat on the stool next to Charlotte.

“Where are my mum and dad?” Charlotte asked, looking down the hallway that Bond had just come through.

“I think they’re still in the library. They didn’t follow me out,” Bond responded.

“Well, I hope you closed the door behind you.” This from Samson, between bites of sandwich.

“What?”

“Yeah, we won’t see them for a while,” said Charlotte. 

“Why? Where did they go?” Bond asked.

“They didn’t go anywhere, Mr. Bond. But we won’t see them until probably…after lunch,” she said, looking at her watch.

Bond let her words sink in for a minute. He couldn’t bring his thoughts around to what M and her husband might be doing just down the hallway so he asked a question to let Charlotte be the one to say the words.

“Why? What are they doing?” 

Charlotte almost choked on her food.

“Really, Mr. Bond? Do I have to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

At her words, the thoughts and mental pictures flew into his head, despite his best efforts to keep them out. M was having sex. In the middle of the day. Near a kitchen full of people. Near him.

M. Sex. Oh, no. She couldn’t have sex. Not with him in the house. 

Bond didn’t think the head of MI6 was allowed to have sex. 

He didn’t even like using the word ‘sex’ in the same sentence as her name.

“They’re knocking boots, Mr. Bond,” Samson said, enjoying Bond’s uneasiness.

“Yes, Mr. Bond, my parents sometimes act like teenagers. And I have two teenagers, so I know,” said Charlotte.

“He’s turning green, darling sister, we should stop,” said Samson, rising from his barstool and putting his dishes in the sink.

“Yes, please, don’t talk about your mother that way,” Bond choked. He wanted this mission to end. He also realized that he had truly meant what he had yelled at her earlier: he no more wanted to be here in this house than M wanted him there. 

“Don’t talk about your mother what way?” said M, walking into the kitchen. 

Bond did a quick check of her, looking for tell-tale signs…a misbuttoned shirt, a missing shoe, mussed hair. Nothing. But then again, he had only left them less than ten minutes ago. Despite his inability to picture her as a woman enjoying sex with her husband, he also hoped that she wasn’t being shortchanged. Every woman should have great sex, even if that woman is M.

“Nothing, mum. We’re just chatting with Mr. Bond here,” said Charlotte, rising off of her barstool and giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “Where’s dad?”

“He went to find his missing camera lens. Not sure where that wandered off to,” M responded, wrapping her arms around her daughter and snuggling her nose into the side of her face. Bond watched for a moment at this open sign of affection from M, something he had never seen in all their years working together.

He had never seen her touch anyone in a friendly way although he had seen her kiss and receive kisses from business acquaintances. But that was a customary greeting, and she had never done it with anyone from MI6. The only true affection he had ever seen was when she and Ian Smithson, the head of the American CIA, greeted each other. There were only simple cheek kisses but with smiles and a familiarity that only comes from years of working together. They were good friends, having met while working their respective Hong Kong offices in the years leading up to the handover. 

Seeing M side-by-side with Charlotte made Bond realize how much daughter resembled mother. Same facial structure and blinding blue eyes although Charlotte had more of her father’s height and his ginger curly hair. It was like watching a younger, more vibrant version of M. And Bond quickly chased those mental images out of his head as well. Imagining M as a young woman was as bad as imagining her on her back. 

Bond heard the front door open and slam and was instantly alert. He stood up and looked in the direction of the front door. He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway and then a voice calling out.

“Where is everyone?” 

“In the kitchen,” M yelled back.

Within seconds a man who was a younger version of Emmett Whitstone walked into the kitchen. Bond almost gasped out loud at the man’s appearance. He knew Derek was gay, but hadn’t anticipated that he would be every stereotype of a gay man that existed. 

He had on tight jeans, tight enough that Bond wondered how he could breathe. And a silky shirt. Bond watched as he actually sashayed through the kitchen, clearly enjoying being the center of attention.

Was the man wearing make-up? Bond could see eyeliner and mascara. And red lipstick.

“Oh, mum, for me?” Derek said, approaching Bond and looking at him as if he were a piece of meat. His voice was almost a falsetto, as if he were trying to sound like a woman. 

“Yes, darling, all for you,” said M.

“Oh, my, it’s my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one,” Derek said, lightly caressing Bond’s cheek with his right hand.

Bond just stood there in shock. This was M’s son? Bond didn’t consider himself homophobic, but this man… 

Now Bond really wanted out of the house. He was shocked that M would allow this to happen, or that she hadn’t warned him.

He looked at her for help and saw her again looking at her toes, her hands on her hips. But this time she was shaking. She was laughing but trying not to be seen laughing. He looked at Charlotte. Then Samson. Then Emmett. They were all laughing.

He looked back at M. She was now looking at Bond and laughing, her eyes full of merriment.

They were all laughing at him, having a good joke at his expense.

“Relax, Bond, he doesn’t bite,” she said, stepping closer to Derek and allowing him to take her into his arms. He was tall enough that, like his father, he could kiss the top of her head.

“Hello, darling,” Bond heard her say, her voice muffled against the silky material of Derek’s shirt.

Derek released his mother and reached for a tissue.

“Yes, Mr. Bond, don’t worry,” he said, in his normal voice. “I don’t bite.”

He started wiping the make-up off of his face. Bond watched as his whole demeanor changed from effeminate and flamboyant to…normal…although Bond really didn’t know what normal was for this man.

“Besides, you’re not my type. You’re more Charlotte’s type,” he said, walking down the hallway toward the living room. Charlotte nodded her head up and down in agreement.

“Touch my daughter, Bond, and they’ll never find your body,” M said over her shoulder, following Derek into the living room.

Everyone left in the kitchen snickered at her words, including Bond. But he was the only one who knew that she wasn’t kidding.


	2. Right Between the Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an attack on M and her family, they come to realize that the women they call 'wife' and 'mum' is someone they don't even know. And Bond and M share a moment.

Wolves.

A pack of hungry wolves, gathered around a fresh kill, enjoying the taste of meat after so much time without food.

That was the image Bond had in his mind as he watched M and her family tear into dinner. There was so much reaching for food and so much talking that Bond was almost lost.

The conversation bounced from topic to topic so quickly that Bond was having a hard time keeping up. He eventually lost track of which conversation belonged to whom. 

Then the conversation got serious. After their plates were full and the conversations settled down, they remembered that Bond was the elephant in the room. 

“Mum, why is this man so angry at you?” Charlotte asked, her voice suddenly the only one that Bond could hear. They had been told minimal information about the situation and all of them had obviously been wanting to ask her but probably afraid to. 

As the afternoon had passed into early evening, Bond could see why M was so adamant about the separation of her family from work. At MI6 she was all business. Say what needs to be said and get out. Do as you’re told. She wasn’t necessarily mean or cruel, but she was direct and always professional. Such an attitude could create problems for those not mentally prepared for it, but Bond knew that Tanner loved working for M. He always knew where he stood with her and she didn’t bullshit with him. 

But here, at their house, with her husband and family, she was an entirely different person. Bond was still trying to come to terms with this woman that he knew yet didn’t know. She was warm, affectionate, and funny. She cracked jokes. She flopped on the couch next to her husband and put her feet on the coffee table. 

She had sex. 

This woman wasn’t ‘M’ to anyone in the room but Bond. To her husband she was ‘Peach’. To her children she was just ‘mum’. They didn’t see the same woman that he did, the brusque, sometimes cold businesswoman who successfully ran a large spy agency. 

M sighed and her face got very serious. 

“I stole his lunch money at school,” M finally responding to Charlotte’s question. 

There was some snickering at the table, but Bond could tell that her husband and children wanted more. 

“I’ve always tried to keep my job away from you. Now it has come here, to our home. This man that they are tracking is dangerous. He isn’t angry at me, per se, he’s angry at the things we’ve done to stop him.”

M’s family knew a little about her actual work with the Secret Service. They knew that she was at NI6 but they did not know that she was the head of the service or that she met with the Prime Minister on a regular, almost daily, basis. She had never told her husband but she had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who she was. Low-ranking government employees didn’t rate a driver and bodyguards. 

And they also didn’t rate ‘safe rooms’. This house, and M’s flat in Knightsbridge, both had a ‘safe room’, which served as a place for protection against attack and a mobile control center where M could still run the agency, even if she couldn’t get to the headquarters. The room here was smaller, with some computers, monitors, phones, and other technology. The room in London was extensive, covering two floors and had banks of monitors and several forms of communication. Both were accessible only by a code and almost invisible to those who didn’t know they were there. 

“Which leads me to a very serious discussion,” her voice got stern. All eyes were upon her. She might be playful with her family, but when she spoke in a serious manner, they listened.

“Mr. Bond is here to protect us. We still have Burrell and Egan out there. And my driver and another agent. Despite all the fun we might poke at Mr. Bond, when he speaks, you listen. If he gives you instructions, obey immediately. Don’t question him. If he tells you to get down, then get down. If he tells you to get into the safe room, then do so, immediately and without question.”

The seriousness of her words were making the air in the room heavy and dark. Forks were sifting listlessly through food and Bond could hear the fidgeting of feet underneath the table. They weren’t liking what they were hearing, but they were listening intently. 

“You have to know, I trust Bond unequivocally. I’ve put my life in his hands before and I know that he will do everything in his power to keep me, us, safe.”

Bond could feel all eyes turn to him when she finished speaking. She said she trusted him and so they, by extension, could trust him as well. 

“Thank you...” he almost called her ‘M’ but wasn’t sure if her family knew that she had a code name. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done so far at my request, closing the shutters and curtains and letting me look around to get the layout of this house. Please know that I will be up a few times in the night, doing checks and making contact with our guys out there. Also, I’ll be doing head counts during the night, so please...”

He looked at M.

“...wear nightclothes.”

The blush that rose on M’s neck and eventually enveloped her whole face was worth whatever punishment she would mete out to him when this was all over. She smiled. 

~~~~~~~~

“Bond, I do hope that you can forgive me for the prank with Derek.”

Bond heard her voice before he heard her footfalls. He remembered that she was wearing soft-soled sneakers instead of the heels that clicked on the marble floors at MI6. M couldn’t sneak up on anyone there unless she took off her shoes. Which she would never do.

“Of course. It’s kind of funny now,” Bond said, moving over on the sunroom bench so she could sit next to him. She handed him a mug of tea.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I also hope that you can forgive me for snapping at you earlier,” she said, her voice soft, just above a whisper. 

“It’s alright M, I understand you wanting to keep this away from your family. I also understand you not wanting me to see you like this.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“What?”

“See you...like this...” he gestured at her.

“You know...relaxed, comfortable, a mum, a wife, a lover. It’s also just a little weird thinking about you having sex.”

M snorted.

“Where did that come from? Why on earth would you think about me having sex?”

“After I left the library and you stayed in there with your husband. Samson and Charlotte said you were probably...”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I’m not going to lie...it crossed our minds. But we heard Derek’s car pull up so we went out to meet him,” she said, sipping her tea. 

“Besides, Bond, how many times have I listened in while you’ve been all over some woman?”

She’d lost count at how many times he’d gotten information from women during sex with an earwig and microphone in place, letting her listen in on him gathering information. It was a necessary evil sometimes and it never bothered her that she had to do that with Bond and other Double-Os as well. 

Sex and booze. It’s how the spy business runs. 

He laughed. She continued. 

“It is a little weird having you here. But also...” her voice trailed off. He sat up at her words, eager to hear what she had to say.

“But also...it’s kind of nice having you around. Getting to know you a little better. Getting to know you outside of what’s in your file.”

She looked up at him.

“I know growing up without parents can be difficult. MI6 is full of orphans and I see who you are, how you live. I think that’s what has driven me over the years to be the best mother possible to my children,” she said. They’d never talked about his life, but she knew that his parents had died when he was very young.

“It makes me sad to think that you don’t have a mother who can be proud of the man you’ve become.”

Bond wanted to put his arm around her and give her a hug, the way he’d seen her sons do sporadically during the day. But he knew that he would be crossing the line that only the two of them could see. 

But the whole day had been about crossing lines so he did it anyway. He placed his arm across her back, rested his hand on her shoulder and pulled her to him. She didn’t resist as he thought she would. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. 

Then all too soon she pulled away from him and stood up.

“Need anything before I head off to bed?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Good night, Double-O Seven.” Her use of his title instead of his name effectively ended whatever moment they might have just shared. 

“Good night, M.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Bond’s hand hovered over the doorknob. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was a little afraid of opening the door.

He was doing his first head count of the night. Derek, Samson, and Charlotte were all asleep. Now he was standing outside of M’s bedroom door, uncertain about going in.

Even with their pensive understanding of him being there, this was her bedroom, the most inner sanctum of her personal life, a place where even bodyguards and drivers weren’t allowed. She would be in there, in her nightclothes, asleep in her bed with her husband. 

Bond wondered if anyone from MI6 had actually ever seen M in her nightclothes or sleeping in her bed. 

He turned the knob and slowly opened the door, allowing the light from the hallway to slowly illuminate the room. He already knew the layout of the room from a quick walk-through earlier that day. Even without her in there he had been on edge, looking at the large bed and quilts. He tried not to, but once again he thought of M having sex, and on this very bed. 

He could see Emmett on the right side of the bed, sleeping on his side. He couldn’t see M at all. Where was she? The en suite door was open and the room was dark and he had already walked all the way through the house and not seen her.

He stepped into the room and walked around the side of the bed. He finally saw her, curled up inside the curve of her husband’s body, also on her side. She was so small and he was so big that he completely covered her from the angle of the door.

Bond knew he shouldn’t stay but he couldn’t help but stare at her as she slept, listening to the soft rhythm of their breathing. She looked so peaceful and happy, snuggled up against her husband. 

He turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

~~~~~~~~~

Someone was shaking her awake.

“M, wake up!”

Instantly she was alert at the sound of Bond’s voice in her ear. Beside her she felt her husband come out of deep sleep and sit up.

“What is it, Bond?”

“Get to the safe room. Derek is already there.” 

M crawled out of the bed, grabbed her bathrobe and stuck her feet into her slippers. Emmett did the same.

“Emmett, you get Samson, I’ll wake Charlotte.”

All three of them left the bedroom, M not bothering to ask Bond what the problem was. She wouldn’t violate her own rules and frankly, she didn’t care. All she was concerned about was getting her family and herself into the safe room, getting out of the way and letting the trained operatives do their jobs.

Within minutes all five of them were in the safe room. M started flipping switches to turn on computers and monitors. She put the communication system on over the speakers. 

“Double-O Seven, can you hear me?”

“Yes. Egan said he saw someone walking around the house, looking into windows.”

“You think Everett would be that stupid?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ve got you the monitors. I don’t see anything on the cameras...”

Then she did. Four shadowy figures coming in from the beach, trying to use the cover of darkness to move to the house. But she had night vision cameras and could see them as they moved.

“Bond...there are four men coming in from the beach.”

Behind her M could feel the fear and tension growing in her family. They had never been a part of such an operation, had never seen her work with her agents like this, staying calm and directing them during a mission. But she couldn’t focus on them right now. They were safe in this reinforced room. But she had five agents who were outside dealing with a group of dangerous men.

She reached for one of the phones. 

“Villiers, it’s happening. Get backup. There are at least four here, we need help.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She hung up and starting maneuvering the cameras around so she could see where everyone was. 

“Ma’am, how do you want this done?” Bond asked.

“If they’ll cooperate bring them in. If not, take them out,” she replied. 

At the sound of stunned silence she realized that she had just ordered the deaths of several men right in front of her family. Quickly she hit grabbed an earwig and inserted it in her ear then turned off the speakers. Now only she could hear.

She turned her attention back to the monitors. She didn’t see anything on the outside cameras.

Then she saw him. 

Everett. 

He was in her house. He’d somehow gotten in as they were moving into the safe room. 

“Bond. Everett’s in the house.”

“What?”

“I can see him on the camera. He’s in my bedroom, looking around for me. He knows something’s up. He knows you’re here. Be careful.”

“Egan, Burrell, Ronson, the other four are near the house, two heading for each side of the house. I’m going inside after Everett.”

With that she shut up so her two bodyguards, her driver, and her two Double-Os could do their job without her interrupting their thoughts.

She stood back so she could see all the monitors at once. She listened in on the movements and tense breathing of the five men outside, grateful that her family couldn’t hear. 

But they could see the same action on the monitors that she could see. On the far right monitor she saw Ronson sneak up behind one of the men from the beach and before she could turn off the monitor Ronson had twisted the man’s head. He fell into a heap at Ronson’s feet. M could almost hear the thump of his body hitting the ground. 

She heard her daughter gasp behind her. M closed her eyes and lowered her head. They didn’t need to see this. They didn’t need to know who she was. They didn’t deserve this.

“Please, all of you. Turn around. Don’t watch.”

“But mum, they’re killing...” her daughter’s voice was small and tight.

“Those men out there are wanted international terrorists who have spent many years of their lives killing people for fun. If we don’t kill them, they will kill us.”

M said this without turning around. She couldn’t face her children, couldn’t face her husband. He had not said a word since she turned on the monitors. For a brief second she was afraid he wasn’t in the room. She turned around quickly and scanned the small room. She saw him over to one side, looking at her with an odd expression. 

He was a doctor who had taken the Hippocratic Oath to save lives, watching men, under the direction of his wife, kill other men. And it was very difficult for him to accept what he was seeing. 

~~~~~~~~~

Bond crept silently into the house, listening for any sound of Everett. He wanted to ask M where he was but he didn’t want to speak out loud. He figured Everett was still in M’s bedroom; if he had left she would have said so.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement at the end of the hallway. Everett was coming out of M’s bedroom and heading toward Charlotte’s. He walked right by the stairwell to the safe room, totally unaware that his quarry was only a few feet away, behind a bulletproof and bombproof wall. 

Bond followed him. As he came into Charlotte’s room the floor squeaked. Bond froze. Then turned to get out of the doorway.

The blow to Bond’s head came from behind. It didn’t knock him out but it made him temporarily unbalanced, giving Everett a chance to pin him to the ground. The man outweighed Bond by 50 pounds and in one swift motion he had his hands around Bond’s neck and was squeezing, choking the life out of him. 

Bond heard a noise behind him, from the stairwell to the safe room. Everett looked up. Bond knew that this was his only chance to overtake Everett, even if the distraction was only a fraction of a second.

But before Bond could do anything he heard a gunshot. Above him he could see a perfect round hole appear in the middle of Everett’s forehead. Then a small stream of dark blood flowed out of the circle and down the man’s nose. Before the blood could drip onto him, Bond tossed him aside and stood up.

In the stairwell was M, only her shoulders and head visible, holding a pistol. She was frozen, unable to move. Behind her were her husband and children, wide-eyed with terror and uncertainty about what to do next.

In his ear he could hear Egan, Ronson, and Burrell yelling to one another. They had taken out the four men who had approached the house from the beach and were now asking Bond where he was and what he needed. 

“I’m inside. Get to the safe room. Everett is dead.” As he spoke he turned around to make sure that Everett was dead, that he didn’t somehow survive a shot to the center of his head. The man was still, not breathing.

He turned back to M. She hadn’t moved. The gun still pointed at Bond’s knees. While he knew she wouldn’t shoot him he didn’t want her to react to the bodyguards as they came into the house. He approached her slowly.

“M?” He stepped closer, could see her family behind her more clearly now.

“M? You okay? Give me the gun.”

She still didn’t move, her gaze fixed on something on the far wall that only she could see. Bond was now standing beside her. He placed his left hand on the gun and his right hand on her back, touching her softly between her shoulder blades.

“M, I’m taking the gun. Let’s go into the safe room until they have fully swept the house.” 

She finally acknowledged his existence with an almost imperceptible nod of her head. She started walking down the stairs backwards, her gaze never leaving that spot in infinity. Bond held her body with his hands, afraid she would fall if he let her go.

In the safe room M seemed to be coming back to her senses. Emmett was looking her over, making sure she was okay. Then he turned his attention to Bond.

“That was quite a blow you took, Mr. Bond. Let me have a look at you.”

“No, thanks, I’m okay. I’m pretty hard-headed. Ask her,” he said nodding toward M. 

Emmett looked at him, then sat down next to his wife. Bond moved over and knelt in front of her, taking her hands into his. He was surprised at how cold they were.

“M...you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never killed anyone before, Bond,” she said softly. Next to her Emmett shifted to be closer to her.

“I’ve ordered dozens of people killed, but I’ve never actually...” her voice trailed off. Bond could sense a chill go through her children as they heard her say the words. The realization of what their mother actually did was starting to sink in. And they didn’t like it. 

M had said earlier that day that her children probably wouldn’t speak to her and that her husband would have left her a long time ago if she had not kept her work and her family separate. Now he fully understood why. It wasn’t the secrets. It wasn’t the security of Britain. It wasn’t the time with family. It was keeping from them the knowledge that she could order the deaths of human beings, oversee the mission, call it a day, and then come home to them with a smile on her face. It was keeping them ignorant of the life-and-death decisions she made on an almost daily basis, balancing the security of Britain and it’s subjects against the right for a terrorist to live another day. 

Her husband was, for the first time in his 47 years of marriage, realizing that the woman who had shared his bed and given him three children dealt with and managed the dirty underworld of life that turned most people’s stomachs. Or that they refused to admit existed. He felt his body turning cold as he looked at his wife, a woman who was now a complete stranger to him. 

M felt the shift in her family, could feel her husband drawing emotionally away from her. She wanted to cry out, to say something, anything, to keep him from pulling away from her. She had an ugly job that she didn’t want to admit to. And job that she was damn good at. 

She also knew that she would never have survived all these years in her position as the head of MI6 without the unwavering love of her husband and children. 

Bond was sensing all that was going on around him. He knew that at a time when a family should be moving closer together for support, M’s family was moving away from her. He squeezed her hands tighter.

“Hang in there, M.”

“I called Villiers for backup. They should be here soon.”

Bond turned towards the monitors and saw the four other operatives in the kitchen. They were safe. 

For Bond, the mission was over. He could leave.

For M, a whole new journey was opening in front of her.


	3. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the attack on M's family continues, with Bond interacting with her family more than he ever cared to. Then in a phone conversation with Ian Smithson, M's friend and director of the CIA, he brings up a point that no one had thought about.

Bond sat next to Derek on the sunroom bench. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Just another day at the office.” Bond was trying to be light-hearted, trying to break the tension, but it fell flat. Derek wasn’t in the mood. 

Samson and Charlotte had retreated to their rooms with the doors shut. Emmett was in the living room. M was still in the safe room, trying to figure out how to keep her family together. Bond would talk with her later. He was hoping to start repairing some damage by talking to Derek. 

Before they had fallen asleep earlier, the two men had spent some time talking about life and things and Bond realized that he liked the man. They were almost the same age and shared some of the same interests.

If he weren’t his boss’ son Bond could have easily become his friend.

“I’m sorry you had to see this. We should have demanded everyone return to London once we saw that Everett was here.”

“I don’t live in London.”

Bond just nodded his head. None of the children lived in London. Charlotte lived in Manchester with her two teenaged sons, her ex-husband nearby. Samson lived in Dublin with his wife and three children. Bond couldn’t remember where Derek lived.

“I live in New York City.”

“I’d forgotten. Sorry.” 

“Does she really do that?”

Bond wasn’t sure what Derek was asking him.

“Beg your pardon?”

“What she said? Order the deaths of people? And you carry out those orders?”

Bond sat back and thought about his answer. He didn’t want to lie but he didn’t think he should be the one to explain to Derek who his mother was and what she did.

“Go ahead, tell him. Tell him everything.”

M stood in the doorway, visible to Bond only as a silhouette with the lights of the kitchen behind her. 

Bond looked at her. She turned and walked away.

And Bond told him. Everything. Everything that he knew. The words spilled out of his mouth as he tried to explain to Derek his mother’s work, his work, the work of the agents and operatives that were now working around them, taking the bodies away under the cover of night. 

Derek sat and listened, his facial expression never changing. When Bond was finished he looked away, not sure if he should stay or go.

“Was she serious earlier? When she said ‘touch my daughter and they’ll never find your body?’ Would she really do that?”

“Yes. I took her seriously. Not the threat of death, I don’t think even she’d do that. But the unspoken threat that she would make my life a living hell if I messed with her daughter.”

“She’s ordered the death of agents before,” he continued. “It’s called ‘Capture or Kill’. We’re collateral damage sometimes. That’s just the way things are.”

“I don’t understand. You’re both so casual about killing people.”

“There’s nothing casual about it, Derek. There are a lot of sick, twisted people out there who take pleasure in killing others. If we sit back and do nothing then they are free to wander the earth, randomly taking lives and instilling terror in others. They have to be stopped. That might make us, in your mind, sick and twisted as well, but it’s a job that has to be done.”

Bond hoped his words were getting through. He still could see no change in Derek’s expression.

“Derek, I’ve known your mother for many years. She’s the smartest person I know, and she’s very good at her job. She’s a very powerful woman. When she speaks, prominent people listen. She has nerves of steel. She has to, doing her job and dealing with bureaucrats. The Prime Minister chews her out at least once a week.”

At that Derek’s head popped up and he looked at Bond.

“What? The Prime Minister?”

Bond was hopeful he was finally getting through.

“Yes. And many other powerful government officials, names you would recognize, that she deals with.”

“You know, she really doesn’t need her family to work against her,” he added hopefully. 

“I guess I should have known, if I’d truly paid more attention. She never brought work home. Never brought people from work home. Except the head of the CIA. That should have been a clue,” Derek said.

“Look, Derek,” Bond said. “I know this is all a lot for you to digest, but know this. Your mother, with her decisions and orders, has saved the lives of countless British citizens across the globe. She’s stopped multiple terrorist rings and brought an end to a lot of human suffering. But all people know is that another day passed without a bomb exploding, without an assassination, without innocent lives lost. No one will ever know it was her. No one will ever thank her. No one even knows her name. You should really thank her for all she’s done instead of ostracizing her.”

“Is that why you call her M? Does it stand for ‘Mansfield’?”

“Yes. It’s her code name. Nobody at MI6 or in the government knows her name, not even the PM,” Bond responded. “It’s for her protection. And yours.”

Something went through Bond’s mind so quickly that he didn’t even catch what it was.

“Do you know her real name?”

Bond smiled. 

“Yes, but only because I hacked her file.”

“This is very hard for me to grasp. My mother has a double life that I know nothing about. It’s a bit...”

“...unnerving,” Bond interrupted. “I understand. The woman I know at work and the woman I see here are two very different people. I know her as a cold, distant woman who doesn’t socialize with her staff, doesn’t bother with small talk, doesn’t relax. And no one touches her, ever,” he said.

“I gave her a quick hug earlier. I’ve known her for over nine years, traveled all around the world with her...Bahamas, Bolivia, even Russia, often sitting right next to her on the service’s private plane, and that’s the first time I’ve ever touched her. She’s unapproachable.” 

With that Bond stood up, ready to leave, ready to take M with him if necessary, and get back to the world where they were safe and in charge, back to MI6.

“Your mum’s a real bitch, Derek,” Bond said, turning toward Derek one more time. “But anyone who has worked with her respects her. She’s honest and she cares about her work. She said earlier that she has put her life in my hands and that she trusts me. But the truth is, my life is in her hands every single day. I live or die by her words. But I trust her. Unequivocally.” 

As Bond heard the words leave his mouth, he knew everything he was saying was true, that he trusted her, even if he had never realized it until he spoke the words. Bond wondered if his relationship with M would ever be the same after this night was over.

“Thanks, Bond. I appreciate it. I love my mum. I just have to accept...”

Bond put his hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed. 

“She’s still the same person she was when you went to bed. Nothing’s changed. Remember that.”

“I hope you remember that, too, Mr. Bond,” Derek said as Bond walked away. 

~~~~~~

Down the hallway, in the living room, M sat across the room from her husband, staring at him, hopefully willing him to accept who she was.

“Emmett.”

He didn’t move, couldn’t look at his wife.

“Emmett, you had to have known. Do you honestly think I would have been allowed in the same room with the head of the CIA if I weren’t..?”

“Of course I knew,” he cut her off.

He had known, deep inside, that she was a high-ranking intelligence officer with MI6, maybe even the head of the agency. She had aliases, including a code name. She had a chief of staff. She had cars with drivers and bodyguards and traveled the world in a private jet. He wasn’t stupid. But he also hadn’t asked.

“Then what’s the problem?” asked M.

They were interrupted by Bond stepping into the room. He hated being in the room with them at this moment, hated standing between M and her husband as they tried to deal with the events of the night. He heard Emmett admit that he knew who she was, and M asking what the problem was. He wondered the same thing.

“Mr. Bond,” M acknowledged him.

“Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, sir, just wondering if everything was okay,” he asked.

“Just trying to sort this out,” M answered him. She turned back towards her husband. She did not dismiss Bond and he didn’t feel he should leave without her directive to do so.

“Emmett...what is the problem?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a heavy silence between them, filled with years of love, anger, sex, devotion, and children. Years that they had shared together, side-by-side. Bond could feel the weight on his own shoulders. He wanted to leave. His feet wouldn’t move.

“The thing is, Olivia, I have always taken care of this family. But when real, imminent danger comes to our home, I get shoved into a closet like a coat and don’t do a damn thing to protect us,” he said, anger rising in his voice.

“And then when Bond’s life is threatened, who is the one who opens the door and saves the day? Me? No. My wife. My wife pulls the trigger, while I sit in the closet and wonder what I should be doing,” he said, finally sitting down, almost sagging to the floor.

M grappling with his words, trying to understand what he was saying. 

But Bond understood. Men are supposed to take care of their families, be the strong ones in times of danger or peril. But he had been helpless, unknowing, and in the end, basically useless, not even able to render medical help to anyone. 

Then Bond realized what else Emmett had said: she had opened the door.

“M, why did you open the door? I gave you explicit instructions to stay in there until I gave the all clear that it was safe to come out,” he said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

She glared at him.

“Oh, so you’re entering the conversation now?” she asked sarcastically.

He stepped toward her.

“You should never have opened that door. You know better than that. A Double-O tells you to stay put, you stay put. You told your family to do as I asked,” he retorted. 

She pointed at him.

“I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped.

Back to Emmett.

“First, Bond’s life was never in danger. He’s a highly-trained operative who would have taken down Everett easily. Second, you did what you were supposed to do and stayed out of the way. You could have easily become...” she choked on her words...”a casualty.”

“So I ask again, M, why the fuck did you open the door?” demanded Bond from his corner of the room. Emmett stared at him hard. Bond wondered if he had ever heard anyone talk to his wife in such a manner.

“That’s it. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I will not stand here and be questioned by the two of you,” M said, attempting to leave the room. Bond cut her off, put his hands on her shoulders.

“You should never have opened that door.” 

She looked up into his eyes, her own eyes spilling over with anger. They connected again, just as they had earlier in the library. Only this time it was Bond who flung a piece of him at her, hooked her, and then refused to let her go. 

After a moment Bond released her. She left the room. Both men listened to her footsteps, heavy with anger, as she moved down the hallway. They both flinched at the slamming of the bedroom door.

“I’m sorry...” both men spoke at the same time.

Emmett chuckled. 

“Bet you never thought you’d ever get caught up with the boss like this,” he said.

Bond smiled.

“No, I didn’t.”

Emmett sighed, a heavy, defeated sigh.

“I see the way you look at her. I know that the two of you have experienced things together that most people will never understand, things you’ll never talk about. You’ve faced death together, harbor the same secrets, have the same anger simmering just below the surface. You have a part of her that I will never, ever have,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Bond started to respond but was totally unsure of what to say.

Emmett waved him off.

“It’s okay, Mr. Bond. She has the same relationship with Ian Smithson. He looks at her the same way. They speak the same unspoken language. I’ve always been jealous of the relationship that she has with him. Because it’s a relationship I’ll never experience,” he said.

He sat down on the couch.

“Sometimes it’s as if I’m the third wheel, as if there were more going on between them than just secrets, even though I know she’s never cheated on me. With Ian or anyone else,” he said. 

“Christ, I almost wished they were just sleeping together instead of masterminding plots to kill bad guys and thwart terrorism. That would be easier to deal with.”

Bond let the man speak, let him work through his emotions. Emmett Whitstone was a loving husband, an experienced and respected physician, and a good father. But he played second fiddle to his wife on many levels. She was a powerful, if not anonymous, government official, who held the balance of many lives in her hands on a daily basis. And Bond knew at this point in her career, MI6 would come first if it came to a decision. Bond could only hope that Emmett could work through his feelings of inadequacy, realize what he meant to her, and not force her to make a decision that Bond knew would not be kind to her family.

Emmett laughed. Bond looked at him questionably.

“I guess that’s the answer, isn’t it, Mr. Bond?” Emmett said.

“Sir?” said Bond, confused.

“I am the one she’s sleeping with. At the end of the day, after all the puzzles are solved, the secrets are stored and the bodies are cleaned up, I’m the one she comes home to and crawls into bed with. And that’s good enough for me,” he said, standing up. Without saying anything else he left the room and joined his wife in the bedroom. 

“Yes. That’s what’s important,” said Bond. To no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond was up early the next morning, hoping to get out of the house and on the road before anyone else was up. He checked with Ronson and Burrell, still keeping an eye on the house. Nothing significant to report.

He went through the kitchen and into the sunroom and was stopped by the sight of M and her daughter curled up on the corner couch together, in their nightclothes, Charlotte wrapped in her mother’s arms like a child.

Charlotte had a doll in her hands.

They were whispering to each other and laughing softly.

Both women looked up at him when he stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t know...” he stammered. It was such an intensely personal moment and Bond had ruined it.

But any anger M might have had the night before was gone. Her eyes were merry. Happy.

“It’s alright, Bond. I was just going to get dressed.”

Charlotte stood up and let her mother pass. After M left the room Charlotte spoke softly, the doll dangling by her side from her hand.

“When I was a little girl, many nights I would go to bed before mum got home from work. I missed her so much. I would go into her room in the dead of night and wake her up to play dollies with me,” she said, holding the doll up for Bond to see. It was old, with smudges on the plastic face and knotted hair. The dress was tattered at the hem. The feet were bare, any shoes were long gone.

“As an adult, I realize now how exhausted she must have been. But she never said ‘no’, never said ‘go back to bed’. No, she always sat up and played dollies with me. Then she’d curl her body around mine, sing a song, and hold me until we both fell asleep. I felt so safe in her arms, so loved. I guess now I know why, huh?” she laughed at her own words but the laughter was hollow, full of irony.

“I remembered that last night. And while it will take some adjustment for me to accept what my mum does now, I know that I love her and that won’t ever change.”

Bond nodded in acquiescence. Charlotte stepped away from him.

“But you, Mr. Bond, you frighten me. I don’t like you. I don’t like you here in this house.”

She sounded so much like her mother than Bond almost choked.

“I would never hurt you, Charlotte. And I would never let anyone else hurt you,” he said.

She nodded back to him and left the sunroom.

Bond heard a phone ring somewhere. Then a voice calling out.

“Olivia, that’s your line!”

“Got it!” 

A few minutes later M called for Bond to come into the kitchen. She had the phone on the counter.

“I’m putting you on speaker,” she said into the phone.

“Bond is here with me. It’s Ian Smithson,” she said to Bond.

Suddenly the entire family was in the kitchen. Everyone except Samson. Bond wondered where he was.

“Imagine my surprise when I wake up early this morning to the significant incident reports and find out that Everett Jackson was killed. By you.”

“It was an effort on everyone’s part, Ian. I’m just sad that Felix wasn’t here to help. I know he’s been working with Bond on the case,” she replied, deflecting his attention away from her. 

“Where are you? Still at the beach house?” Ian asked.

“Yes.”

“How the hell did he know where you lived?”

Then Bond remembered that fleeting thought that he had had the night before, while talking with Derek, which went through his mind so quickly it had vanished before he could acknowledge its existence. 

How the hell did Everett know where M was? 

Nobody could respond. M looked at Bond, helpless. 

“M?” came Ian’s voice over the phone.

“I don’t know, Ian.”

“Someone had to tell him.”

More silence. 

“Must be an inside informant,” said Bond, but hoping he was wrong.

“Maybe a connection with Mitchell?” asked M.

“I don’t know, Ian,” repeated M, wanting to end the phone call.

Ian Smithson knew Olivia Mansfield well enough to know when a conversation with her was over.

“I’ll finish reading the reports. Call when you’re ready,” he said, hanging up.

All eyes were on M. 

“I remember Mitchell. He was your bodyguard for years. Then he was gone,” said Charlotte. “What happened to him?”

Neither M nor Bond spoke. Nobody needed to know the answer to that question.

“Mum?” Charlotte asked, demanding an answer. A truthful answer. 

M looked down at her toes.

“I shot him,” said Bond. “I killed him.”

There was an audible intake of breath from everyone in the room who didn’t know this information.

“Right after he tried to kill her,” he finished, nodding his head toward M to indicate the ‘her’ in his sentence. 

“Mitchell tried to kill you?” This from Emmett. “That man was in our house, in our car. What?”

“He tried to shoot her. M, I need to leave, now,” said Bond, eager to be gone, eager to not be a part of any more conversations with her family.

With that he left the room and went to get his bag.

~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later M walked Bond out to the car. He stopped and turned toward her, trying to read her eyes. He saw fatigue, worry, sadness. 

“I hope everything works out with your family, M.”

“Yes, this little bombshell about Mitchell has just seemed to add fuel to the fire,” she said.

She looked around, wondering if Ronson was watching.

“We’ll be alright, Bond. Emmett and I talked last night after we went to bed,” she said.

She looked him right in the eye.

“And then we had sex.”

Bond snorted.

“Really, M? You had to say that?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” she grinned as she spoke. 

“Charlotte and Derek gave both spoken to me. They’ll be fine. Samson concerns me. He’s always been a bit of a peacenik,” she said.

There was a moment of silence between them. Then Bond spoke, firmly.

“M, you can either answer me here, or I can continue to ask you back at MI6. Why the hell did you open the safe room door?”

“I can’t answer that, Bond. Not today, not ever. Stop asking.”

“Can’t. Or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

“Tell me, Olivia.”

Her head shot up at the use of her real name. A flash of anger in her eyes, and then some calm. Then she broke eye contact, looking past him at nothing. She sighed heavily. She knew he would pester her mercilessly until she told him.

“When I saw you on the monitors, being hunted by Everett, then fighting with him in the hallway, I thought of my two sons standing behind me. I wondered what I would do to protect them, to keep them safe. How far I would go to ensure that my sons lived. The answer was easy. So I picked up the gun, opened the door, and fired.”

Neither of them spoke. M because she was surprised she had actually said the words. Said them to a man who was trained to kill on her command. Said them to a man she now realized meant more to her then she would ever admit to anyone.

Bond because he was stunned at her words. Had she compared him to her sons? Had she protected him as if he were one of her sons? He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say.

So he pulled her into his arms and hugged her as hard as he could. He felt no resistance from her at all. Then felt her hands behind his back, returning the gesture. She was warm, and smelled like sweat and fear. But he kept holding her and in his mind answered his own question from earlier. From this point on, his relationship with M would never be the same.

He released her and before either could speak he was in the car and backing down the driveway. He didn’t want to spoil the moment by saying something stupid. His last vision in the rearview mirror was her standing on the edge of the driveway, looking over her shoulder at him driving away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Weeks Later.

 

Bond got off the elevator and crossed to Tanner’s desk, hoping to catch a moment with M before the evening’s reports started coming in. 

Tanner greeted him with his usual ‘hello Double-O Seven’. 

“A word with her?” Bond noticed she wasn’t in her office, but figured she would be back soon. She was often away from her desk.

“She’s gone. Already left for home.”

Bond was shocked. It was only 15:30.

“Why?”

Tanner looked up at him.

“I didn’t ask her, Bond. An hour ago she said she was leaving, I said goodnight,” he said.

Bond just stared at him.

“And by the way, Bond, what happened up there at the beach house? Come on, tell me what’s not in the reports,” Tanner asked, a small grin no his face.

“No way, Tanner. You never tell me what you see at her house.”

At that moment M’s private line rang. 

“That’s odd,” said Tanner, noting the number. “It’s Emmett Whitstone.”

“Yes, sir?” Tanner asked as he opened the line. Bond could hear a few excited words on the other end.

“Hold on, sir, hold on,” Tanner said anxiously, putting the call on hold and indicating to Bond to follow him into M’s office. Tanner closed the door behind them and hit the conference button on M’s desk phone.

“Sir, I’m on speaker, James Bond is here with me. What exactly is going on?”

Whitstone’s voice was excited, nervous.

“Where is my wife, Tanner? Her briefcase and coat are here, but she is not. There is a sign of a struggle and...” 

His voice trailed off. They could hear footsteps as he moved, then a sharp intake of breath. 

“And what? Sir?” Bond asked, impatiently.

“There’s blood on the floor,” he said softly.


	4. Following The Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search is on for M. Agents, led by Bond and managed by the Director of the CIA, cross the globe looking for the SIS Chief.

“It’s not her blood.”

James Bond had been standing in her foyer for over an hour, impatiently waiting for the MI6 technician to give him an answer on the blood that was pooled on the floor and spattered on the wall. He looked at the young man, waiting for more clarification. But the technician was wrapped up in putting his gear away.

“Whose is it?” he demanded. 

“That I don’t know. I can only tell you that the blood is not female. It will take a few more hours before we can get a full profile, perhaps an identity if it’s someone in the system.”

With that, the technician left to go back to headquarters and finish the necessary tests. He said he would call Bond once he had a full reading on the blood, something that could be run through the system for comparison. 

Bond was both ecstatic and deflated at the same time. To hear that the blood didn’t belong to M made his heart beat slower, a sense of calm coming over him. She wasn’t injured. But that didn’t tell him who had her, what condition she might be in, or where she was.

Beside him he felt Emmett Whitstone exhale in relief at the same news. Then he drew in another sharp intake of breath as he realized the same thing that Bond had: the blood might not be hers, but she was still out there somewhere.

Bond could feel the same questions going through his had also going through Whitstone’s head: 

Whose blood was it?

Was she still alive?

Who had her?

Where was she?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier that day:

 

Her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe. Ever since she had decided to leave work early and head home to surprise her husband she could barely contain her enthusiasm, her desire, her lust.

Ever since they had returned from the beach house M and her husband had revolved around each other like planets in a well-choreographed gravitational dance. Talking, touching, sharing. But not quite connecting. There were still volumes of unspoken words between them. They had not made love since that last night at the beach house and M missed her husband. She missed his body next to hers in the bed. She missed his body on top of hers, bringing her pleasure. She wanted to fix what was broken. And she wasn’t ashamed to use sex as a tool to get what she wanted.

Not that sex with her husband was a bad thing.

Her intent had been to surprise him with some champagne and chocolates, their favorite ‘romantic’ foods. In their early years together they had spent many hours in bed, naked, drinking champagne and eating chocolates off of each other’s bodies. This was before they became successful in their respective careers. Before they became parents. Before they became busy. Through the years they had managed to spend a few nights here and there, sipping and nipping, but not in the past several years. What better way to rekindle what had possibly burned out over the past few weeks, if not the past few years, than to go back to the beginning?

She was in the kitchen, putting the champagne in the refrigerator when she heard the front door slam. 

‘Bloody hell’ she thought...he was home earlier than she had anticipated. And, she realized foolishly, she had forgotten to reset the alarm after she came in the house. He knew she was there. The surprise was off. Nonplussed, she went into the hallway to greet her husband and...

...stopped in her tracks at the door into the kitchen from the foyer. At the sight of the man in her front hallway her pulse quickened and her blood ran cold. Fear shot through her like a lightning bolt as she realized she had no bodyguard, no agents, no weapons. And no access to the silent alarm that was behind the man. If she hadn’t used the loo right when she got home she probably would have wet her knickers. She tried to remain cool and calm, not show him any fear.

“What do you want?” she demanded. 

The man just laughed, the same way he had mockingly laughed at her and her interrogation a year ago in Siena, Italy.

“I still think it’s ironic, M. You were so adamant about not giving me medical help, even a simple IV, even though I was clearly in need. What, with a bullet in my leg and all,” White said, moving closer to her. 

“It was Mitchell who insisted,” he continued. “What did he say? ‘We need him alive’ I believe. Of course, little did any of us know that it would be that simple IV pole that kept Mitchell’s bullet from entering into your heart.”

“I didn’t think you deserved an IV or any other form of medical help,” she retorted. 

White moved even closer. She could smell his cologne.

Then she saw movement to her right and realized there were several men were in her living room. All carrying weapons. Now she did feel wet between her legs. Even though her bladder was empty, her body had still found some liquid to expel from her body in fear. She was fairly certain at that point she was going to die.

M’s mind was working to try and figure out what to do, what he wanted. Was he going to take her somewhere remote and torture her? Or just do it here and leave her body for someone to find? Either way she hoped it would be quick and relatively painless. Her old body wouldn’t take much for very long.

Then she remembered who it was who would find her body if they killed her here. Emmett.

Her husband was due to return any minute. He didn’t need to walk into this! He didn’t need to be killed by White or find her body in the hallway. 

Whatever was going to happen here, she needed to move it along.

She also needed to leave some evidence for MI6 to find, whether it be DNA or otherwise. 

“What do you want, White?” she repeated, doubting she would ever get an answer.

In a swift, almost imperceptible move, the tall man closest to her reached for her. But she was faster. She reached for the crystal candlestick on the small table against the wall and hit him on the head as hard as she could. Then she hit him again, watching the blood splatter on the wall behind him. 

There, evidence. Lots of DNA for her forensic team to work with.

She was glad to see him fall to his knees, blood dripping down the side of his head and onto the floor. Even if they cleaned up the blood, there would probably be enough in the cracks of the hardwood planks to get DNA evidence for identification. If this man was in the system. 

But she also realized that she had probably just signed her own death warrant. White was already angry at her, at MI6, for thwarting Quantum’s desire to rule Bolivia and the world. There was no way he was going to let her live now. She again hoped that her death would be quick and painless, that they would hide her body, and that it would never be found. She’d rather her husband not see her body, dead or alive, twisted and damaged. 

Everything that followed happened so quickly she wasn’t even sure what happened. In a mere flash of time she was bound, gagged, and in the back of a large vehicle moving through the outskirts of London. The man she had hit was in the back. They had not cleaned up the blood. 

She wasn’t afraid. She was calm. Her husband would be spared. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ian Smithson was sitting at M’s desk at MI6 headquarters, looking at both 007 and Emmett Whitstone, trying to figure out how to calm the twitching agent ready to kill and the despondent husband who was probably also ready to kill. He was also trying to keep himself calm, keep his emotions from running away from him and turning a bad situation into something worse.

“Every agent on this planet is looking for her, Emmett, ours, yours, our allies. Whoever has her won’t get far,” he said, trying to be reassuring. As he spoke, Bond tried to figure out who Smithson was trying to appease...M’s husband or himself. Either way, it wasn’t really working. 

“The entire intelligence community is on high alert. We’ll find her,” he added. 

M had been missing now for 6 days. Both MI6 and the CIA had little intelligence on who had her, where they were, or what they wanted. The CIA Director had arrived early the next morning after her abduction, taking the overnight British Airways flight to London from Dulles. And although he was American, he had instantly taken over the office, directing staff and managing the intelligence reports as they came in from all over the world. 

Nobody seemed to have the nerve to stop him, not even Gareth Mallory, head of the Security and Intelligence Committee. At first Bond was angry at Smithson for this, taking over her office and staff. He’d always considered Smithson reserved and submissive compared to the brute force that was M. Whenever they were together in the same room she was definitely the dominant personality. But now Bond realized that Smithson was no submissive, that he was as demanding as she was. He also realized that the man knew exactly what he was doing, and that he could, like M, move agents and intelligence successfully around like pieces on a chessboard. 

If anyone could find her, it was Smithson. He was the head of the CIA for a reason, and Bond was beginning to respect his abilities. 

Emmett was about to speak when Tanner ran into the room, winded and breathless. 

“Just got this from Siena, Italy,” he said, punching up video on M’s computer screen.

The images were fuzzy. The four men watched as five figures crawled out of a small airplane, crossed the tarmac, and then got into a waiting vehicle. Four of the figures were male, but the petite, white-haired woman in the center of the group was clearly M. 

The men surrounding her carried semi-automatic weapons, led by a tall man that Bond recognized after a few moments.

“White,” he said, confirming what they had suspected for hours. The blood in M’s foyer had come back to a known henchman, a nobody, but who had distant ties to White, and Quantum. It was a longshot, but enough to enable both spy agencies to narrow their focus on specific areas that White was known to move in. 

The video was taken from a CIA operative working as a baggage handler at the small Siena airport that was suspected to be a major hub for drug and money runs between Portugal and Russia. 

She looked unharmed but Bond could see that her hands were tied in front and the two men on either side of her had tight grips on her upper arms. Bond wondered what she had done to make them keep such a tight grip on a 73-year-old woman. With the blood that was on her foyer floor, he knew she had not gone with them without a fight. And she was probably still fighting.

On the video M moved her head up and down as she walked, looking around her as if trying to figure out where she was. 

“Smart girl,” Bond mumbled under his breath.

Whitstone looked at him.

“Beg your pardon?”

Bond and Smithson exchanged knowing glances.

“She was probably aware that someone had a camera on her. She no doubt remembered that we had an agent there, working where the private planes come in. She’s moving her head around so her face is visible from all sides. She’s making it easy for us to identify her,” Ian explained, pointing at the screen and the images of M looking around. 

“So, he took her back to Italy. Back where...” Bond’s voice trailed off.

“Back where what?” Emmett asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t get an answer.

Ian and Bond looked at each other, wondering how much, exactly, to tell this man. In their own ways, they both loved M, cared for her probably more than they should. But Emmett was her husband, the man that she was closest to, the man that SHE loved. Even though he had no formal intelligence training, was not an agent or even an analyst, he was now a part of this circle, a part of this mission. A big part of this mission. 

Bond had seen Ian and Emmett greet each other warmly, shaking hands and then talking to one another in hushed tones in the corner of M’s office. But Bond also knew enough about body language and human behavior to know that Emmett was a bit leery of the CIA director. Bond just couldn’t figure out why. Emmett had already told him that he knew Ian and M were not lovers, and Bond just couldn’t see sex between the two of them anyway. No, there was something else, Bond just couldn’t place it. 

“Go ahead, Bond, tell him,” Ian said quietly.

“That’s where Mitchell tried to kill her,” he said, the memory of that day still burning clearly in his memory.

For one half of a second Bond’s brain had not registered that Mitchell was drawing a gun and firing it at the woman with whom he had been in close contact with as a bodyguard for five years. Then Bond’s instincts had kicked in and he had pulled his weapon and fired at him, but Mitchell, having the same MI6 training, had already moved and was on his way out the door.

Before chasing him, Bond had looked over his shoulder and seen M moving towards the door. He didn’t see any blood on her but he really didn’t know whether she had been hit or not until hours later when he had caught up with her at the safe house.

In the past year Bond had replayed those 15 seconds over and over in his head and wished that he had done one thing differently: shot White on the spot. One bullet, right between the eyes, and M would be sitting in her office right now, in her chair, instead of the Director of the CIA. 

But he had been so temporarily mesmerized by Mitchell’s actions and then overwhelmed by the desire to kill the son of a bitch for trying to hurt her that he had forgotten about White. 

For once in his entire life he had been concerned about a woman getting hurt or killed and now she was being held by a man who not only hated her but belonged to an organization that was capable of unspeakable levels of violence.

Emmett sighed loudly. 

“Mitchell seemed like such a...good man...” he said. 

“I know. He had us all fooled. And we should have known his betrayal ran deeper than we thought. We should have kept looking,” Bond said.

It had taken Q about 4 hours to find the link between Mitchell, White, and Jackson Everett. Mitchell, of course, knew White from Quantum although no one could find the moment where he had turned against MI6. Deeper digging revealed that one of the thugs that had attacked M’s family at her beach house was Mitchell’s distant cousin.

How MI6 had missed that was beyond everyone’s comprehension. 

“The video was taken 3 hours ago. Your guy had to wait until the end of his shift to send it so he wouldn’t raise suspicion. They’re always on high alert there so he had to be careful,” Tanner said to Ian.

“Well then,” Bond said. “I guess it’s time to go to back to Italy.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond entered the room with weapon drawn despite knowing that it would be empty. And it was. No furniture, no papers, nothing. The two windows on the outer wall were both closed. If anyone had been there recently, they were long gone. 

After making contact with the CIA agent on the ground, it hadn’t taken Bond long to figure out where White was more than likely holding her: In the same cellar where she had held him for only a few minutes, trying to get information from him on his group. Where he had mocked her attempt. Where Mitchell had tried to kill her. 

Bond felt a chill go through his body when he had entered the cold, damp cellar. Even after a year, White’s blood was still on the ground. He kept his weapon drawn as he moved through the outer area into the back room.

The dust in the room was unsettled by the movement of several people, now long gone. Bond could see a larger clean spot in the corner. No doubt where she had been sitting while White and his men plotted their next move. 

He noted that there was a small pool of blood on the floor. And some spatters on the wall, about 2 feet up from the baseboard. 

He shivered.

They were hurting her. 

“There’s nothing here. They’ve left,” he said into his microphone, knowing that the agents accompanying him as well as Ian Smithson were listening. 

“Nothing here.” 

“Nothing here, either.”

Bond turned to leave and saw a painted map of the world covering the entire inside wall that Bond vaguely remembered. It was old and dirty, but readable. Germany was still separated into East and West. The Soviet Union was still intact, egging on the Cold War. Yugoslavia was still in the cold death grip of Tito. Bond sighed at how much the world had changed, at how power had shifted and economies had risen and fallen.

He was about to walk away when he saw a small, shiny smudge of blood on Mexico City. He repositioned himself to get a better look. It was a relatively fresh spot of blood, dried but still red.

Beside him he felt and presence. 

“A message?” Felix Leiter asked. Bond was glad his CIA friend was with him.

“Could be.”

It took the technician 45 minutes to get a reading that the blood on the map, the floor and the wall was female. By the time the results revealed it was M’s, Bond, Leiter, and a host of agents were already on a plane bound for Mexico City. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frustration was mounting, distracting all the agents who had earwigs. Ian Smithson was trying to be quiet and let them do their work, but Bond knew that he, too, was anxious to find her. And like M, when he got anxious he got demanding and abusive. And he was taking his frustration out on both the CIA and MI6 agents. 

But Smithson’s voice couldn’t drown out the small, sharp voice in Bond’s mind that was repeating ‘find her’ in a rhythm that was almost matching the frantic beats of his heart. He was focused on only one thing: finding M.

Agents in Mexico City had traced White to a warehouse in the west side of the city. Somewhat nice, in an industrial neighborhood, but abandoned and more than likely used as a wayside for drug smuggling. 

The agents moved through the building silently, making hand gestures to one another as they went up and down stairs and through a maze of hallways. The building was large. If White were here with M it was going to take a while to find them.

Bond was down in the basement, looking through what appeared to be old storage rooms. Some were locked but most were open or even missing doors. 

“Here!” came a voice in his earwig. 

Bond also heard the voice down the hallway so he moved in the direction of the voice but before he could get to the agent and the room a figure passed him quickly.

Bond stopped, unsure of what he had just seen.

Gareth Mallory, the head of the Security and Intelligence Committee? Where the bloody hell had he come from? Bond had no idea that the man was even there. Nobody had said anything to him, not even Ian Smithson. 

Mallory went into the room, shutting it behind him. The agent that had called out that he had found something blocked Bond when he approached. 

“Out of my way, Anderson,” Bond growled, ready to throw the man aside if necessary. Or shoot him. He had to get into that room.

“No, Mallory said nobody comes in,” Anderson responded, ready for a fight. 

Bond knew he could take Anderson but backed down. If M was in there, if she were alive, she didn’t need two sparring agents. She needed help.

Behind Anderson the door opened slowly. Mallory walked out, his face drained of color, a look of sheer pain and desperation on his voice.

“We’re too late,” he whispered. 

“What? Let me in, Mallory,” Bond said, pushing toward him. He caught a glimpse over Mallory’s shoulder of a pair of legs, spattered with blood, a gray skirt just covering the knees. Before he could see any more of the figure in the room Mallory pushed him away. 

“No, nobody sees her like this. Nobody,” Mallory said. Bond was ready to fight him but he soon realized that he had underestimated the man’s strength. Mallory had a firm grip on his shoulders and wasn’t going to let go. 

Bond backed down and went to the other side of the hallway. Mallory was left standing in the doorway, watching him like a hawk.

The medics were on the scene within minutes. They went into the room quickly and closed the door. It was an hour before the door opened again. Bond had not moved.

He watched stoically as the stretcher came out. He could make out the shape of her body underneath the white blanket, the bend of her curves reminding him of her asleep in her bed, tucked into the curvature of her husband’s body. How long ago had they been at the beach house? Three weeks? Seemed like a lifetime. 

“I’m so sorry, M. I tried to get here in time,” Bond whispered in his head. He had failed her, had not been there when she needed him the most. 

Bond felt a presence next to him.

“I’m sorry, buddy, I know how much she meant to you,” said Felix, placing a hand on his shoulder. Behind him he could see more CIA and MI6 agents approaching slowly, unsure of how to proceed. They had all seen the stretcher, had seen the small figure underneath the sheet. Even those who had never met her in person knew that the shape under the blanket was hers. 

“Thanks.”

Bond turned on his heels and left, going in the opposite direction of M.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emmett Whitstone did not take the news of his wife’s death very well. By the time Bond returned to London, to MI6 headquarters, he had already been told and was close to falling to pieces. His three children were with him, not faring much better.

M’s body had been flown back to London immediately and was now in MI6’s small morgue, the only one in London outside of any police jurisdiction. Her private physician, Dr. Ralph Marins, had performed an autopsy but had classified it, closed it, and filed it away, stating ‘no one needs to know what they did to her’ as his reasoning why. 

Bond made his way to the morgue. He wanted to see her, say one last farewell. He noticed Emmett, Derek, Charlotte and Samson in the hallway. Emmett was exchanging words with Marins. 

“I want to see her,” he said, loudly and forcefully. Bond had the impression it was not his first request to see her.

“No, Emmett, that’s not possible,” Marins said softly.

“I don’t understand why.”

“As a physician, I think you do. This is not how you should remember her,” Marins said. 

“You can’t keep me from her,” Emmett said.

“Yes, I can, Emmett.” 

The man was frustrated, angry, pacing the hallway. For over 40 years his marriage to her had played second fiddle to the service and now, at the end of her life, the service was dictating her death. 

“Can I see her through video?”

It was a common practice in hospitals and morgues, when bodies were too damaged for viewing but the face could still be seen. The physician could use a video camera to project the image onto a screen where the victim could be recognized. As a physician, Emmett had used the same system for his own patients and their families. 

“Yes. Please give me a few minutes to prepare her. I’ll come and get you when we’re ready.”

After Marins left, Emmett turned toward Bond, seeing him for the first time. He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Whitstone. I’m so sorry,” Bond said softly. He didn’t know what else to say. He looked at M’s family, saw the tear-stained and puffy eyes, and knew that he didn’t belong there. He looked at all of them, one after the other. The last time he had seem them all together at one time was in the safe room, after M had shot and killed Jackson Everett. 

“If you need anything, please let me know,” he said turning to leave. He could come back later.

“You can stay if you want. I know you cared about her. I know you came to see her. I have no problem with you seeing her.” 

Bond turned to face Emmett, wondering what was showing on his face to make the man make such a statement. 

“Thank you.”

Minutes later Marins came and took the family into the cold room, leaving Bond in the hallway. He wanted to see M but wasn’t going to interfere in the final moments with her family.

After a few minutes they reappeared. Without saying a word Emmett and his children walked down the hallway and got into the elevator to leave.

“Bond, he said you were to see her body if you wanted to,” Marins said with a tinge of anger in his voice. The doctor had never liked Bond. Probably because he had kept M’s blood pressure up so high.

“I do, and thanks,” he said, ignoring the anger in Marins’ voice and walking into the room. He went to the viewing screen and waited. 

Bond watched as her image came up on the screen. His breath caught as he recognized her but didn’t recognize her. She was not the M he had known all those years. She was not the woman who brought fire and energy into a room.

This woman was cold. Still. Gray. Part of her face covered by the blanket, hiding wounds. Bond wondered what they had done to her, what they had hit her with, to do so much damage to her face. 

He turned and left, following her family out of the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six Months Later

 

The mission had gone well...Bond had managed to bring down the terrorist ring with minimal damage to buildings and loss of life. Bond was glad with mission success but still felt hollow inside. Since her death, killing people and breaking their things didn’t resonate with Bond under the new M as it had when she was in charge. 

And now he had to debrief with the new M. Every so often Bond slipped and called him ‘Mallory’. It was going to take some time to stop seeing him as the head of the Security and Intelligence Committee and accept him as the new MI6 chief.

Bond wished someone else had been picked to head up MI6. Someone whose last name didn’t begin with the letter ‘M’. 

He approached Tanner’s desk quietly. Despite the passage of time, Tanner was still feeling the effects of her death. He didn’t talk much anymore, not even to Bond. 

“He’s waiting for you, Bond, go on in,” Tanner said, not even looking up. He kept his eyes on his computer screen even though Bond could see that it was a blank desktop. There were no documents or files or photographs or anything to hold Tanner’s attention. 

“Thanks. How are you doing, Tanner?” Bond queried. Over the years he had grown fond of the young man who was the front line for getting to M. They had gone to pubs many times, drinking until the early hours, and even played a few rounds of golf. 

“I’m well. Busy,” he replied. Now he did take his eyes off the screen and looked up. Bond could see the sadness in his face, see the dark circles under his eyes.

“I miss her.”

“Me, too.”

The door to M’s office opened and M stepped through.

“Double O Seven, glad you’re here. Come on in. I’d like more details about your...adventure.”

Bond stepped in the office and debriefed M as quickly as possible. M said little as Bond talked, relaying to his boss very little beyond what was in the official reports that Bond had already filled out and filed. 

M stood up behind his desk.

“Thank you, Double O Seven, I appreciate you coming down here and giving me this information.”

Bond said nothing, only nodded. Their relationship was still on shaky ground, both trying to figure out each others boundaries and personalities. Bond didn’t dislike M, he just didn’t trust him, didn’t think M understood the leeway that Double Os tended to need when on mission. Thought he might be a bit too much by the book.

Bond got up to leave. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob he turned back towards M.

“Tell me one thing, M,” he said quietly.

M raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Bond?”

“Where is she?”


	5. Sun, Sea and Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond finally finds M clues and tracks her down on a Caribbean beach. He wants nothing more than to make her happy. But he knows that nothing he does will ever make her happy. Only one thing will and Bond is willing do whatever it takes to make her smile.

“Who are you talking about?” Mallory replied.

Bond was impressed at the lack of reaction in Mallory’s face and voice, even though he knew damn well that Bond was asking about her. 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, M. And I ask again, where is she?” demanded Bond.

“Bond, you’re talking in riddles. There are a lot of women in this organization. You will have to be more specific about the one you’re looking for,” Mallory said, his voice becoming tinged with anger. He started organizing papers on his desk. 

“Okay, you want to play this game, I’ll play,” Bond said, sitting down in the chair facing M’s desk.

“Olivia Mansfield. Where is she?”

Bond watched as M’s eyebrow went up in confusion.

“My predecessor? Bond, Olivia Mansfield is dead. You were there, remember?” he said, emphasizing the word ‘remember’ with a sneer.

“No, I wasn’t. You blocked me from entering the room, remember?” Bond said, mockingly, emphasizing the word ‘remember’ with the same sneer.

“You saw her body in the morgue, Double O Seven. You were at her funeral.”

“I know about the body doubles, M.” 

Now M made no attempt to hide his shock at Bond’s statement. He looked up quickly at Bond and glared at him. How on earth did he know about the body doubles?

It had taken James Bond months of hacking files in the MI6 servers to discover a little known secret about the chief and other high officials in the SIS: they had body doubles. Not actual, live persons, but mannequin-like doppelgangers that Bond assumed would be used when a faked death was necessary.

He’d been shocked to find out such things existed. He was even more shocked when he found hers deep in the secure storage facility on the outskirts of London. When he first saw it he thought he had found her dead body and was about to punch the panic button on his phone when he realized it was a mannequin of some sort. Life-sized doll might be a better description as this ‘doll’ had weight to it and was soft, like an actual human body. 

The face was so like hers Bond had found it unsettling to look at it. The same lips, chin and ears. The same hair. The same body shape. The body double had no clothing and was, for the most part, anatomically correct. Bond had taken a moment to snicker at ‘nude’ M, wondering if she had posed naked for some terrified doll maker, scowling at him and telling to hurry up as she had important things to do. 

Or maybe that doll maker had just looked at a photo of her and guessed. 

Mallory had nothing left to say. He acquiesced to the knowledge that Bond knew that M, his predecessor, was alive. 

“Come on, M, I know she’s alive. Just tell me where she is.”

“Okay, she’s alive.”

M said nothing else. He gazed at Bond, holding his eyes steady. Mallory wasn’t going to give up any information. If Bond wanted to know, he was going to have to ask.

Bond picked up on his cue to start asking questions now that M was willing to talk. 

“Does her husband know?”

“Not unless he, too, has figured it out. But I doubt he has. Otherwise he’d be sitting here in this chair, not you.”

“What about Director Smithson?”

“No. She thought that Smithson wouldn’t play the part of the grieving friend well enough, knowing that she wasn’t actually dead. Emmett has had extensive training in psychology and she was afraid that he would be able to read that in Ian.”

Bond was starting to get angry at this M, knowing that he had helped M fake her death without letting him know. Did neither of them trust him?

“How could you?” Bond asked, even though he was running out of questions he thought he should ask. There was only one left he really wanted answered. 

“I had no choice, Double O Seven. She gave me her safe word.”

Bond looked quizzically at M.

“What?”

M almost laughed at the fact that there might be one secret that Bond wasn’t aware of.

“Her safe word. We all have them...the senior officials here. And MI5. And Special Branch. The word that means ‘I want to die’. The words that means there is no argument, no questioning. We are sworn to abide by this word. She chose to die, Bond, not me. Leave her alone.”

“I can’t. I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She didn’t tell you, right? Didn’t let you in on her little secret?”

Bond hesitated for a moment. No, she had not told him, not sent him a secret message letting him know that she was alive.

Or maybe she had left a message and he just hadn’t found it yet. Had she left anything for Mallory? 

“Where is she?” Bond repeated. He was getting tired of asking.

“I honestly don’t know, Bond.”

Bond huffed loudly.

“Yes, you do.”

M turned and went to the wall safe behind his desk. He opened it up and pulled out a small stack of envelopes, five of them, walked back and handed the envelopes to Bond.

“After she left London I was not told of her whereabouts. All I’ve received from her are these letters.”

He held them out to Bond, who grabbed at them greedily. She had left him a message.

Bond examined the envelopes. They all had separate postmarks.

Alaska.

Tahiti.

Nairobi. 

Tokyo.

Port Lockroy, Antarctica.

“Of course they came here through a third party. Mailed to someone in the know and in return mailed from those places. I suppose if I really wanted to find her it would have been easy to look at passenger manifests of expedition ships visiting the British station in the Antarctic, but I have chosen to respect her wishes.”

Bond opened the envelopes and read the short letters one by one. The handwriting was sloppy, with loops and lines that were crooked and out of shape. He’d watched her sign her name to enough documents to recognize her handwriting. 

“That’s not her handwriting,” he said, throwing the letters on the desk. He was getting tired of Mallory’s games.

“It is if her hand was smashed by a hammer and not yet healed, if it will ever actually heal,” Mallory said softly.

Bond looked at Mallory in shock. They had hit her with a hammer? Now his blood was boiling. He picked the letters back up and read them one at the time. He read the words carefully, looking for clues to her whereabouts. After three rereads he had his answer.

He handed the envelopes back to M and stood up.

“Thanks.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see her. I know where she is.”

And with that, Bond walked out of M’s office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Knowing that Mallory was no doubt having him tailed, Bond took a series of travel zigs and zags, using a passport that only he and Olivia knew about, a name that no one would look for, no one would put an alert out for.

He quickly booked the first flight out of London to the Caribbean. Once on the plane he settled into his seat. It was going to be a long flight and he still had to figure out what he was going to say to her when he finally found her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was hot and Bond had not yet had a chance to change into any of the lighter clothing he had packed for the tropical climate. Leaving London in the cool of the morning and landing in the heat of the Caribbean afternoon had left Bond a little unbalanced. 

He knew she was on this island. The clues in her letters were glaring, once you realized that her words were, in fact, clues. But he just didn’t know where. He was now sitting in a coffee shop in town, getting his bearings and trying to figure out where she would go, where M would choose to hide from her life, her family.

From him. 

He looked through the ‘want ads’ of the local paper, seeing what types of houses were available. He stopped looking after a few listings, realizing that she wouldn’t rent a house. She wouldn’t be able to maintain the upkeep and hiring workers could blow her cover.

No, she would be in an apartment-type dwelling, secluded, with upkeep and maintenance included, and with minimal interaction with staff and the outside world.

He scanned over the rentals. Nothing stood out at him. 

As he looked out of the café’s windows at the blue of the ocean, he saw in the corner of the shop a rack with flashy magazines, offering rentals across the island. With only a few moves, he was up out of his chair, at the rack, and then back in his chair with a variety of magazines. 

He started flipping through them until one particular apartment complex jumped off at the page at him.

Bingo! 

‘I’ve got you now, M,’ he thought as he paid the tab.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He saw her from across the room. She was wearing a large hat and reading a newspaper. A teapot, cup and remains of a light breakfast were on the table in front of her.

She might have tried to hide under that large sunhat, hiding her white hair, but her profile was unmistakable.

She had chosen an apartment complex that included all utilities and maintenance but also had a few bungalows that were separate from the main building. Bond had gotten into the files at the office by flirting with the receptionist, stating he was looking for somewhere private to live. She had gone off on an errand, unknowingly leaving Bond access to the residents’ files. 

It didn’t take long before he found “McDouglass, Sarah”, a 70-year-old single woman who had moved into one of the bungalows 4 months ago. She paid rent in cash every month and had very little interaction with the office staff. 

He got her bungalow number and was leaving the office when he noticed the large beachside café outside of the office. That’s when he saw her. 

His heart leapt at finally finding her with relative ease. 

Bond walked over and casually sat down in the empty chair at her table. 

She didn’t even look up. She just kept reading her paper. After a minute she spoke.

“Just over six months. I’m disappointed, Bond,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I left you enough clues.” 

“Well, I’m still busy with work. You know, Queen and country and all that,” Bond said, smiling. Despite her non reaction to his arrival he was glad that he was finally back with her. She had a calming effect on him. 

When she finally lifted her head to look at him he realized how much he had missed her. Her blue eyes, her white hair, her snippy retorts to his stupidity. The way she threw her authority around a room. He fought off every urge to grab her and pull her to him. He wanted to hold her so much that his heart was hurting. He wanted to kiss her. 

Instead he just sat and held her gaze.

After a few seconds he realized that her gaze wasn’t as he remembered. Her right eye was...different. He found himself staring at it, trying to rationalize what he was looking at.

“They hit me,” she said softly. “Took some work to get it back to normal.”

It had taken 3 surgeries to put M’s cheekbone back into place, broken when one of White’s henchmen had hit her. Thankfully there were no scars visible on her face, but it would never look the same, especially to those close enough to realize that something was just...off. She saw it every time she looked into a mirror. 

“M, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. And it’s Sarah now.”

“Yes, Sarah McDouglass.” Then he said it anyway.

“Olivia Mansfield.”

“She’s dead, remember?” she huffed. “Stop calling me that.”

“I’ll try. But only in public.”

She seemed to accept that. Bond sensed it was because she was exhausted from her life in intelligence and had no strength left to fight him on trivialities as she once had. 

“Well, you’re here. You might as well come back to the flat,” she said, standing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bungalow was plain but comfortable. Two bedrooms, each with an en suite. The living room faced the beach, which was visible through the open French doors. There was a patio. 

It was comfortable but, after her large, multi-story London townhouse, painfully small.

She stepped to the couch, pulled off her hat and then ran her fingers through her short, white hair. She had thought about dying it to help with her cover but the hair dresser had said it was too white and would never hold color. If she wanted to change her hair color she’d have to use a wig. And she didn’t want to wear a wig. Not in this heat.

“Would you like some tea? Or something to eat? I didn’t even offer at the café,” she said, walking toward the kitchen behind Bond.

As she crossed in front of him he grabbed her, gently, and pulled her close to him. She didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around her. Bond was ecstatic to hold her and feel her warmth against his body. The only other time he had held her like this, at the beach house, she had smelled of sweat and fear. He could still smell sweat, but now the scent was mixed with clean salt air, a touch of lavender, and a mix of joy and relaxation. 

She broke away after a moment.

“Take the room over there,” she said, tilting her head to the left. Bond nodded in agreement. 

“How long are you here?” she asked, sitting on the couch. 

“I don’t know. Until you throw me out, I guess.”

“M will be looking for you.”

“He truly doesn’t know where you are. Therefore, he truly doesn’t know where I am.”

“And I truly doubt he’ll look. He has better things to do,” he added.

“M,” Bond said, sitting on the couch next to her, “why?”

She looked away, stared hard at the beach for about five minutes, then turned back to him.

“I couldn’t deal with everything, Bond. I didn’t want my family to see me so broken. Didn’t want my husband to have to deal with...a...damaged wife,” she said. Bond could see darkness creeping into her eyes, turning them from bright blue to a deep navy. 

“You don’t know how he would have reacted.”

“Bond, you saw how he got at the beach house. I think all those years of playing second in my life finally got to him. He would never have taken me back. Oh, he might have lived with me until both of us died, but...”

Her voice trailed off.

“...we wouldn’t have been man and wife. More like roommates. I didn’t want to do that to him”

She sighed heavily.

“How is he? Did you see him? Did you see them?”

Bond understood ‘them’ to be her children.

“I did. Right after he saw your body. Or rather, your body double,” Bond said. “Your husband is devastated. Your children are...distraught.”

M looked like she wanted to cry as she listened to his words, but no tears fell. She had already cried enough tears for her lost family. She didn’t have any more to give to her memories of them, of the years she had spent as a wife and a mother. She had nothing left to give to anyone. Even Bond. 

Especially Bond.

She stood up.

“You should get settled in. Then we’ll go for a walk on the beach,” she said, going into her bedroom and softly shutting the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days passed too quickly for Bond. He knew that hiding in paradise with a woman he cared deeply about would have to come to an end. They had spent their time talking, making meals, sitting on the deck, drinking wine and watching the sun set. It was idyllic. But despite his happiness at finding her alive, he was still an officer in the British Secret Intelligence Service. Queen and country were waiting.

And, he realized one morning shaving, White was still out there. Bond’s new mission in life was to hunt him down and make him pay for turning M’s life inside-out. 

It was time to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was in the kitchen, making tea when Bond walked out from his bedroom, carrying his suitcase.

Her smile went away instantly when she realized that he was leaving.

“The day I’ve been dreading is near,” she said, sighing.

“I’ll be back, M”.

“You probably shouldn’t. The neighbors’ tongues are already wagging at the thought of me and my very young, very handsome lover,” she said smiling. She poured two cups of tea, adding milk and sugar, just the way Bond liked to drink his tea. She knew him well. 

They both knew his presence was attracting attention, not because he was a spy and she was a former spy chief, but because she was an old woman spending a lot of time with a much younger man. 

And truth be told, Bond was starting to think of M as a woman, someone he might enjoy being physically closer to. He had more than once in the last two nights woken up and wanted to go into her bedroom. He wanted to know what she wore to bed. He wanted to know what her skin tasted like. He wanted to hear her moan in his ear as he... 

But he also knew that she was troubled. She had suffered at the hands of a madman. She had given up her husband, a man she deeply loved. She had given up her children. He had to stay back, stay in the shadows. Keep an eye on her, but never put a hand on her.

He wanted to help her. Make things right. The night before he had awoken at 3 a.m. wanting to go to her, see if he could make her happy. Instead, he came up with a plan to help right the wrong she had endured. With some careful planning, it might even work. 

“I’ll be back,” he repeated. 

“I’d like that. I get lonely here,” she said truthfully. While she enjoyed the peaceful setting, she missed the company of others. She missed the business of work. She missed having someone to talk to. And argue with. She missed bossing people around.

Bond reached for the cup of tea that she had poured.

“You don’t have many friends.”

“I don’t have ANY friends, Bond. It’s too risky and frankly, I don’t want any friends. Not people here, anyways.”

Bond held her gaze. Steady, as if he weren’t going to let go of her.

“Well then, I guess there’s only one thing left to do, M.”

“What’s that?” she said, knowing what he would say.

“I have to kill your husband.”


End file.
